


Wilbur's Origin Story - Rebuilding Civilization

by Fanfiction_Junkie_28



Series: SBI God AU (Wilbur's 100 Player Challenges) [1]
Category: 100 Player Challenges - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Bois Inc
Genre: 100 Player Challenges, Almost all character tags are now missing, Angst, I'm Sorry, Just remembered how I want to section this, Made Family???, No shipping, Wilbur Is Lonely, Wilbur will get less lonely, god AU, heck, oh no, whoops, why
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:59:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 10,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29102931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfiction_Junkie_28/pseuds/Fanfiction_Junkie_28
Summary: This existence was an entertaining one, right?Wilbur leaned back against the bedrock wall of his shrine. He tilted his head back and stared up at the bedrock columns and the flat roof that sat on top.Why was this bedrock shrine his?He looked back down at the paper clenched in his hand.Wilbur SootThe dark, swirly letter stared back at him, mocking the fact that he’d never know who’d written it.With a sigh, he stood up and moved on.It wasn’t like it really mattered anyways.
Relationships: Wilbur & Loneliness
Series: SBI God AU (Wilbur's 100 Player Challenges) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144307
Comments: 32
Kudos: 84





	1. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! This work is still in progress and some things like tags might change around sometimes. Sorry for the inconvenience!

The world started who knows how long ago. Wilbur didn’t really care. All he needed to know was that he woke up alone with nothing but an invincible note in his hand and a bedrock structure surrounding him.

He opened his eyes, sat up, and started to look around at the spongy, greyscale rocks that made up the world around him.

 _Bedrock_ , his mind supplied as he looked around.

He sat on a long, bedrock slab, surrounded by countless bedrock columns, under a flat, bedrock roof. The only colors he knew were the pale shade of skin on his body, the fluffy, brown hair that fell in front of his eyes, and the monotone shades of bedrock around him. Light peeked from outside the columns and just barely reached his clearing. Curious, he slid his legs onto the cold floor and shivered. Everything was _new_ and so was Wilbur.

He pushed himself onto his legs and immediately stumbled onto the floor of soft bedrock. Maybe it was called bedrock because it’d been his bed. He stared in wonder at the peaks of light that shined between his bedrock pillars.

_More new._

He pushed his hands into the ground and heard a crinkle. Looking down, he found a wrinkled square of white held in his hand. In big, swirly letters written in a blue-ish black was _Wilbur Soot_. It was his name he supposed. Who else’s could it have been?

Wilbur Soot was his name and he’d wear it proudly! Now, he just had to find someone to introduce himself to! Looking up at the light again, he pushed himself onto his feet and with the help of his pillars, started to walk. Once he got the rhythm down, he started to walk a little faster. And when he reached the last rows of columns, he started to run. But the light gave him no answers, for when he reached the edge of his bedrock home, there was nothing. He stared out into the nothingness, the blank, white light that surrounded his bedrock home. Wilbur stood still at the edge of the spongy, bedrock floor below him but there was no one and nothing.

No noise but his own hastening breathing.

No color besides his tense body.

And no life besides the one he had.

Wilbur woke up totally and completely _alone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoooo, so I felt like making a god AU out of Wilbur’s 100 players series and now we’ve got this! WHOOOOO!


	2. Prism

It’d taken Wilbur a long time to come to terms with the fact that he was alone. He’d torn a chunk off a bedrock column and tossed it into that white oblivion, but it just flew soundlessly into the distance until he could no longer see it.

There was truly nothing outside.

_Well_ , he reasoned, _if there’s nothing outside, let’s see if there’s something inside!_

So he turned around and ran through his halls of bedrock, the slapping of his feet the only thing he could hear. A cold, cautious hope tried to make itself at home in his chest as he ran down the outermost ring of columns. His home seemed to be a giant circle with rings of bedrock columns, a slab in the middle, and two flat chunks that acted as a roof and floor. As he ran, the light never changed, the world around him was stagnant no matter how far he went. Repeated, even bedrock forever. An endless oblivion of white light. The rhythmic force of his strides. Forever and ever, he ran through the looping hall until eventually, he tripped. He didn’t know for how long he'd been going, and right then and there decided that he’d need a way to keep track of time. And looking around at his curved, identical surroundings, realized he’d need a way to keep track of his position as well. So he looked around, his eyes setting on the jagged hole in a nearby column.

_That could work._

Wilbur pushed himself up and started to pull a bigger chunk out of the bedrock. He tore off spongy layer after spongy layer when suddenly, he scraped against a much firmer rock inside. It was still bedrock, but the middle layers were much more stable than the spongy parts.

_Bedrock, the only unbreakable block in the world_ , his mind supplied once more. Unbreakable, huh? Well alright then, he’d just have to make his mark in the spongy layers instead. Wilbur turned around and started to claw at the closest pillar of the next ring. He just had to make a mark in a straight line until he reached his bed, his waking spot. That would have to work well enough for a guide on his position. He glanced back at the endless light outside, but quickly turned back to his task. He had all the motivation in the whole world after all, he’d have to make sure it didn’t run out.

After scouring every hall of his home, Wilbur found there was simply no life here. His chest ached, his eyes burned, and with weak, tired legs, he crumpled onto the floor and started to sob.

Of course there was nothing! What had he expected? Friends? Life? A simple clue as why he was even here? _Of course there was nothing!_

Big, fat tears rolled down his face as he curled into a tighter ball on the floor and tried to wipe away the tears. He laid there, facedown on his bedrock floor with his legs tucked under the rest of his body and his hands cupping an ever growing amount of tears. He just wanted _something new, something special_ . He choked on his sobs as the mucus in his throat got thicker. He just wanted something, _anything_ ! He blinked open his eyes and stared with blurry vision at the clear, salty liquid pooling in his palms. He wanted _something_ that would show him _new_ . Wilbur wanted _new_ and he wanted it desperately.

And then it happened. Something in his hands pulled and the puddle started to solidify and grow before his very eyes. He pulled his head away as the tears that had been slipping through his fingers sat as a solid prism made of something clear.

_Glass._

It mystified him and the disappointment that had burrowed itself into his heart started to waver. What had he just done? What had he just made? He sat up and rubbed his eyes before looking back down at his hand again. The glass prism was still there, solid and much heavier than tears.

_Far less sticky too._

Wilbur held it up in the slivers of light that slid past the columns in an attempt to see it better. After all, he only had himself, his bedrock, his name note, and this triangular, glass object. But he noticed something strange, lines of vivid colors spread down his arm as he held his prism to the light. In shock, he dropped it and it bounced.

Cautiously, he picked the glass back up and started to run back towards the light again. Once he was 4 rings from the edge, he held the glass up again and stared in awe at the plethora of colors that spread from his glass. It was all so beautiful! He smiled, pulled the prism close to his chest, and cried once more because despite the endless joy that came from the fact that he could create, he still had nothing to share his creations with.

Wilbur Soot was still alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, hopefully this angst will let up soon. But yeah, another chapter and another progression. Poor, lonely Wilbur. Don’t worry, you won’t be alone forever. I’ll give you friends soon! I promise!


	3. Earth

He was sitting on the edge of his bedrock home when a thought hit him. If he could make tears into glass,  _ maybe _ , Wilbur wondered, maybe he could make more. With hesitant fingers, he looked down at the bedrock and started to pull on the grey shades. Yes, he’d make a solid rock, firmer than the bedrock’s spongy surface, but brittler than it’s core. Confidence started to pour itself into him as he pictured a solid block of sweeping greys. He closed his eyes and sweeped his arms out into the nothingness, wishing for grey blocks.

For  _ stone _ .

And as he felt his energy start to ebb a little, he opened his eyes back up and saw more than white. Suddenly, he’d made a solid, grey floor that seemed to go on forever. It laid far, far below his bedrock, but it felt right.

Wilbur could create new and when he looked over at his prism, he knew that grey wouldn’t be the last color he made. In fact, he spent a very long time pulling on his colors, dripping them onto his Earth and flooding them with stone.

Ore and stone made up his earth and he was ready for more, so he tried mixing his colors and made brown. After mixing in some stone pebbles and bits of yellow, he flooded over his stone as well. But just dirt, ore, stone, and bedrock did nothing to satisfy him. So he looked down at his prism again and pulled on the green this time.

Grass was the result.

Wilbur painted his earth into existence, but despite his wishes and the beauty he’d made, he was still alone and that was not something he could change.

_ Right? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, we're still at population 1, but that might change. Especially if you look at the tags, but yeah. For now, we're still at the Lonely Wilbur stage.


	4. Wind

Wilbur stared down at the land he’d made, it was closer now but still so far down. He pulled a small chunk off of his ledge of bedrock and threw it down to earth. He heard the dull noise of it hitting the ground and watched as it became a dark, rolling speck on the grass.

Yes, this was much better than before.

He looked up at the sky he’d made, the sun a concentrated source of light and the sky an ever changing blue. And he was especially proud of the moon, it’s surface reflected the sun’s light even when the sun dipped below his side of the world. That way, light was possible at all times of day and time could be told. Finally, he’d know just how long he spent doing things.

But maybe that wasn’t the best of ideas. Everyday, Wilbur would stare at his beautiful Earth and work on it. Make a new flower, make a new terrain, make another new thing and be the only one to ever see it. He’d spent countless days doing just that.

One day, he was staring off the edge of his bedrock home and painting a new forest into existence. After at least a week of painting new things nonstop, he decided it was high time to go take a nap and started to get up. But while doing just that, a gust of wind flew by and suddenly he was falling. His stomach lurched and his eyes burned. The wind pushed against his body and scratched at his skin as he fell. The trees he’d spent hours bringing to life were getting closer, lumpier, and more defined. He would hit them and it would hurt.

Wilbur didn’t want to get hurt.

He screamed in terror as the greens of his earth got closer. They were so much bigger than he was from up close. 

_No!_

The trees were almost touching him and he pulled his arms up to cover his face and screamed, ”I don’t want to fall!” Suddenly, the wind stopped and Wilbur felt nothing. The leaves rustled in a passing breeze and he opened his eyes.

He was floating just over the vibrant green of his tree’s leaves. _Darkwood_ , if he remembered correctly. He started to look around. He was almost on his earth, barely a meter from touching it, from touching his darkwood trees. Wilbur reached his hand out and brushed against the plush leaves he’d painted. They were solid and easily torn, soft and velvety, perfect and green. He gravitated closer and slid his hands between the branches. It was everything he’d wished for.

He looked further down and glided down to the grassy floor. He’d made that too. He set his feet into the soft blades of grass. It was perfectly sharp and soft at once. He loved it.

Looking up, he stared through his darkwood forest and tall flowers. Peonies, roses, grass, and trees. These trees were bigger than the others he’d made, they were beautiful. He heard something new in the distance and started to run. The grass was quieter and softer than his bedrock but sharper and far more solid than the spongy parts. His earth was so much more than his bedrock and when he looked up through the leaves and at his home, a dot of black so small he could cover it with his hand. He didn’t want to go back for a little while and who was going to stop him? He turned back to the sound and continued to run.

_Really, who_ could _stop him? He was the only one here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flying Wilbur! Floating Wilbur? Oh well, Wilbur has less gravity now! But still no friends...


	5. Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some blood and extra angst

Wilbur Soot slowed down at the edge of a clearing to find he had followed his ears to a stream of rushing water. The _lake_ was what he’d decided to chase.

He remembered when he made water, he had looked at his prism and his tears and mixed the two into a line across the land. Clear and clean and rejuvenating. A perfect drink to nourish life.

So far, it'd done next to nothing.

He settled on the edge of the lake, dipping his toes into the water. It was peaceful, but far too empty. He looked around. The trees lived, the grass lived, and the flowers lived. Maybe he could make _more life_. He looked down at the clear lake and then at the pink of the skin under his nails. Wilbur submerged his hand and started to pull. 

_Something living_ , he hoped, _something that can thrive in these waters._ He closed his eyes and focused on the waves that lapped at his feet. _A small body that moves like the water._ Something settled on his forearm, but he really didn’t care. He’d simply add it to the mix for a little flavor, a little _color_ . _I want something with a splash of spontaneous spirit._

And then he felt it, a sharp pattern repeated over a lithe body that fought to be free of his hands. He opened his eyes and let go. A long, pink body with the color of withering grass for fins and the blue of an ocean on its face seemed to fly down the stream. It was beautiful, it was graceful, it was...

_A salmon._

He smiled as he watched the salmon go. He wanted more salmons. He looked down at his arm and found exactly what he’d guessed would be there, a withering shred of plant torn off by the wind. Wilbur’s smile widened as he pressed his finger to the wonderful color.

_Well, if he wanted more salmon, he’d just have to make more salmon._

  
  
  
  


Wilbur spent a week filling his waters with Salmon...

  
  
  
  


Well, now that that obsession was over, he started to fill his waters with a bit more _variety_ . The pale skin of his palms became sand on the edge of his waters and the less saturated bits became codfish. A little sand, yellow, and blue became the pufferfish. And his tropical fish? Oh, he was just adding to that variety as he went. Grabbing funny colors and mixing for countless weeks. He really didn’t know how long he’d been working on fish, but on one cool night, figured he’d add one last thing for now. Wilbur swam over to one of his many salmon, grabbed it’s eye, held his right hand out to the dark sky, and wished for something _funny_.

_I want something that will react to me in a new way._

The fish slapped at his wrist and started to flash red. He closed his eyes.

_Something unlike what I’ve ever made._

The slaps got weaker and the noise of splashing water and clapping started to fade. Wilbur pulled his right hand down to the water and created something new again. And with a splash and puff of smoke, Wilbur created _two_ new things.

_Death and squids._

He looked down at his heavy hand, the nails bloody and his skin coated in familiar scales. The smoke blew away with the wind and Wilbur felt his gut churn.

_Death?_

He tore his eyes from the limp fish and looked around, his eyes landed on the squid, it’s squishy head and eight, long tentacles nothing compared to the sickening sight of it’s dark, red mouth and shiny, white teeth.

_Stars and blood for a mouth._

Wilbur dropped the body and dragged his hands through his hair as he retched and curled into himself, submerging his head under the water and screamed between gasps of water and acid. It burned and he felt sick. His emotions felt high and reminded him of the whirlpool he’d seen while he was spreading his love, his _salmons_. Then, it all stilled, slowed, stopped.

_Quieted_.

He lifted his head out of the freezing water of the lake, opened his eyes--which he hadn’t even realized he’d closed--and took a deep breath. His stomach still churned, but he felt less like exploding and more like sleeping. The water made a nice sound as it rolled down his body and fell back into the bigger pool. He was soaked and his hair would stay wet until the sun dried it. Wilbur couldn’t really find it in himself to care, though. He was tired and if he wanted a nap, he’d damn well take a nap.

Drops of reddened water trickled past his eyelashes.

Wilbur pushed through the water and the other fish stayed out of his way. He pulled himself onto the grassy shore of his lake and curled under the oak tree that sat right in front of him.

_I want to be warm._

_  
No. _

_  
I wish for the cold then. _

_  
**No**. _

Wilbur clenched his hands into fists and pulled them close to his body. For the first time since he first discovered he could, Wilbur Soot didn’t feel much like creating anything.

The faint smell of smoke and the sharp, red stuck to him.

Wilbur didn’t sleep well that night, but then again, when had he last slept anyways? His creation? Yeah, empty voids that lasted empty seconds were probably better than this. A bleary mess of slipping in and out of consciousness throughout the whole night. Never asleep enough to miss the time and never awake enough to do anything with the time he felt.

_It was horrible._

But maybe he was too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, it got extra angsty this time around. I honestly didn't originally plan for that fish to die, but then it just sort of happened and now it's a thing. So, uh, sorry! I hope you enjoyed the chapter though!


	6. Red

Wilbur didn’t like death.

After finally having enough energy to get up, he waded into the river and pulled out the floating body of his salmon.

_Salmon can be cooked and eaten to reduce hunger._

He gagged and shook his head. That wasn’t happening. _Oh god no._ Wilbur made his way to the grass once more and held the cold body to his chest. He wanted to do something for it, but what could he use the body for? He didn’t want to waste it, but eating it wasn’t an option for him. His eyes strayed down to the scales he hadn’t bothered to pick out and the blood that stayed smudged on in skin. He gagged again and the acid in his throat burned him as he shivered.

_Create something that will take the fish._

He shook his head and sat by the tree again. He still didn’t feel like creating, all he wanted to do was fix what he’d done. He didn’t realize he was hurting it.

_You didn’t realize? It was flashing red, idiot._

He squeezed his eyes shut and his stomach swirled again. He’d have to remember what hurting looked like, he couldn’t forget. Wilbur _refused_ to forget.

He waited a second, but got no response from his mind. God he wanted to talk to somebody. Somebody who wasn’t him. But right now, he needed to deal with his fish. His poor salmon.

_If only I could bring her back, maybe the guilt would leave him._

He looked down at the cold, motionless salmon and shut his eyes. He laid it’s body onto his lap and placed his palms on it’s flesh. _I want to bring you back. Please come back._

Nothing.

_Creatures of this type cannot be revived._

Wilbur’s eyes snapped open and his body went stiff.

_What type_ could?

He received no answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess?


	7. Bedrock

In the end, Wilbur had ended up burying his fish by the tree and grew flowers around it’s corpse. Poppies, roses, and red lilacs. He didn’t pull out those scales either, they'd stay as sharp, little reminders in the skin of his left forearm. And Wilbur wouldn’t have had it any other way.

At least, not in any of the possible ones.

After so long away, Wilbur looked up at his bedrock home and started to fly. He wanted to go back home. He moved through still skies and thick clouds. They’d been thicker lately and the air had felt hot and humid. A part of him wondered what could possibly be going on, but the rest of him just wanted to lay down and sleep again. Maybe with enough sleep and enough distance, he’d feel that desire to create again. Maybe if his world lacked the color of earth, he’d _need_ to create again. Even if his ability to create had clawed at his heart every single time he made something new, it also made him happier than when he wasn’t.

He set his feet onto the distantly familiar feel of bedrock. It felt gross compared to the sweet grass he’d been on since he fell. _ God, it’d been a while, hadn’t it? _ He grimaced at the feel of the bedrock and wished he could feel wood instead.

His fingers tingled with the feel of an oncoming creation, but he pushed it back down and started to walk instead.

Wilbur ignored his feet and his nerves and his swirling stomach as he made his way past clawed columns and into the center. He looked up at the ceiling and a part of him wished he could tear a hole in it, but he couldn’t. He looked down at his slab, his bed, his bedrock. He dragged his fingers through his hair and the idea of a fabric made out of a softer, thicker version of it flashed through his mind.

Another tingle.

Another denial.

He put his knee onto the bedrock and shivered, but ignored that too as he laid on his side. He wanted to touch it as little as possible. Wilbur breathed in and suddenly just couldn’t do it anymore. He punched the bedrock and floated above the slab.  _ This wasn’t home anymore. _ Wilbur looked at the glinting shards in his arm and closed his eyes.

But he wasn’t ready yet. Not for Earth, not for his creations, and not for company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Wilbur...


	8. Rain

Wilbur spent countless weeks floating over his slab, a sleepy mist of passing time that he never bothered to count. He didn’t want to count the time that passed. He didn’t care.  
  


_Patter patter_

He opened his eyes and noticed the cold breeze wafting in.

_Pitter-patter patter_

The unfamiliar noise started to get faster and louder. Suddenly, the sound became something akin to the rushing waters of a lake. But even that comparison wasn’t right. He knew what that sounded like after all... Wilbur let his neck relax and dangled his head to look toward the light, but the sun was gone and the light was a soft, grey-ish blue color. He furrowed his brow, flipped over, and floated his way out of the center and towards the sound, the outside, the earth. His eyes strayed down to his dangling arms and the scales that hadn’t left. _And they never will._

A harsh breath of cold air flew at him again and his focus recentered itself on the much closer outside. He watched as water fell in sheets from the dark, cloudy skies. This was _new_ , and Wilbur didn’t make it, he hadn’t even asked for it.

_Rain_.

As he gravitated to the edge of his bedrock roof, he nervously lifted his fingers to the edge of his protective roof and stared, mesmerized by the rain.

_What was it?_   
  


_Rain, a type of weather that comes when the clouds become too heavy with evaporated water and have to release some water._

A giggle bubbled out of his chest and into the air, but a puff of smoke flew out with it and he froze. He forced himself to take a breath and realized it wasn’t smoke. He couldn’t even smell the puff, it was just _air_. Nothing more and nothing less. He dragged his eyes back to the heavy downpour of rain and watched as the darkened Earth in the distance moved on. A trickle of water splashed his hand and he sucked in a breath. It was so cold, almost sharp.

The memory of splashing water slammed into the forefront of his mind, but the constant trickle pushed back at it. Those splashes weren’t as consistent as this.

He moved further out and the rain--stopped only by his skin--was thinner and softer than the sharper, faster waterfall of his roof’s edge. Wilbur felt the water drip down the sides of his forearm and slip between his fingers. He looked up and felt drawn to the sight of dark clouds and swirling droplets. The bedrock fell away as he moved even further out, his eyes pointed to the skies and his entire body soaking in water. The brown curls of his hair dampened and stuck to his face. The scales rang with the vibrations of every drop of rain that touched them and the pain was almost enough to make him wince, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care about the pain. He was enthralled by this weather he had inadvertently caused. It was beautiful and despite his dropping body temperature, he didn’t go back inside until the rain stopped a full day later.

Wilbur Soot loved rain apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to give Wilbur something nice and I like rain, so it’s time for some projection! WHHHOOOOO!


	9. Maybe

Wilbur shivered as he floated just outside his bedrock structure. He was wet and damp and wanted everything else. He wanted to be dry, to be warm. He wanted another body to touch. He looked down at the scales on his arm and the familiar trees far below. They called to him, he wanted to touch the surface again. He wanted to stop hovering over everything. He wanted grass and fish and water and rain and warmth.

But as he turned back to look at the bedrock, he reminded himself that he needed to remember his mistake. 

He could not forget this.

His gaze was pulled to the white of the bedrock and then back down to his left forearm. He needed a creation that would encompass all his desires and memories and regrets.

Wilbur combed his hair back with his fingers before moving to the roof and pressing them into the squishy surface. He hated the feel of the bedrock, but pushed through it.

_Give me warmth and dry resources._

The memory of his own fluffy hair popped to the forefront of his mind and he let it stay.

_Give me a reminder to all that is right and wrong._

He pressed his free hand to his arm and felt the scales under his palm bristle at the contact.

_Give me something that lives and walks and breathes._

He started to pull and felt the familiar power course through his veins, his fingertips ready to burst with the energy.  
  
  
 _Give me something that will live on land instead of water._

And for the first time, Wilbur watched with clear, open eyes as a small flash of color grew into a big, fluffy creature. The animal sat still in his arms, all pale skin and white fluff. _Wool_ , his mind corrected. It’s dark eyes opened and settled on Wilbur’s face before it’s mouth opened to reveal flat, white teeth, a long pink tongue, and lots of red flesh on the inside. “BAAAHHHHHHHH.” Wilbur stared at the wool-covered creature, perplexed at the very new sound.

“BAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH.” The animal whined at him again with dark eyes shiny and cute. Wilbur couldn’t help but giggle at the thing. 

“Baaaahhhhh.” He responded and the new creature snorted at him.

_The sheep_.

Maybe, _just maybe_ , things would be alright. Wilbur kept his grip loose and carefully watched for red as he descended down to the grass once more. He was careful to just barely hover over the blades of grass before he set down his sheep. His wonderful, new creation.

With enough care and restraint, Wilbur Soot could live among his creations. He just had to make sure he remembered their fragility.

Their death.

He smiled as he carefully pat only the thickest chunks of wool on his sheep’s body.

Wilbur was sturdy.

The sheep licked at his forearm and the scales pulled a little, stinging as they refused the movement.

His creations weren’t.

He lightly pushed the sheep’s head away and frowned.

_If only they were._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I might be accidentally making Wilbur’s love interests his first creations of animal life, but I swear it’s an accident! Seriously!
> 
> Also Wilbur now knows to be careful with his friends. That will come in more later.


	10. Dressed

Wilbur had been hesitant to touch the grass again. He’d liked bedrock before, but after so long away, he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. Would the same thing happen with his Earth? Was he doomed to forever need new things? Would he just need to be used to it?

He was used to air and wool right now. What would solid ground feel like? Would it pain him as much as bedrock? Wilbur didn’t know how he’d handle that.

He stared down at the green grass and then back at the sheep that seemed to stare at him with expectant eyes. He allowed his gaze to roam over the sheep’s body. It could handle grass and it only knew him and the air. They only knew each other and wind, so what made that transition possible? He stared down at the dark hooves and thick wool. Was it the newness? When Wilbur was new he could handle it.

  
_Yes, that must've been the reason._   
  


Then a leaf fell into his hair and despite the fact that he tensed, it didn’t disturb him. His hair was separate from his skin. It, like the wool and the hooves, was separate and acted as a median. Wilbur smiled. Maybe he just needed a cover.  


An extra skin.

_ Clothes. _

He moved towards the sheep and pushed the tips of his fingers into the soft, white wool.

_ Give me a cover. Give me protection. I wish for a layer of wool. _

_ I want a garment made of wool. _

The wool started to spiral off of the surprisingly calm sheep and curled around his torso and biceps before pulling into a sweater. It was baggy, went down to his hips, and only reached his elbows with the woven fabric. He looked down and laughed.

Wilbur found out that he loved sweaters that day.

Now he just needed to cover everything below. His eyes strayed back up to the bedrock above him, the sun’s position making it barely anything more than a shadow.

Thoughts of slapping fins and smoky clouds started to trickle back into his mind, but he quickly shoved it away.  _ I already said I’d remember. _ His fingers grazed the scales in his arm. They tingled with regrets and memories he was starting to distance.  _ Don’t forget, Wilbur Soot. _

He scowled at the black shadow and reached his left hand to the skies.

_ I don’t plan on it. _

He pulled and felt a sleek fabric fall over his skin from the waist down. It was tighter than the sweater, but still loose enough to be comfortable. It reminded him of the sheets of shadows that would come when the light was a certain angle.

Wilbur curled his hand into a fist and set his covered feet onto the ground. Unlike before, he felt no dampness, no soft, sharp blades, no grass. Only ground, only the solid surface with a touch of squishy give. He looked back down at his sheep and smiled.

If Wilbur didn’t want to feel it, then he would simply cover himself up. He loved his Earth, but the fear of touching any of it was far too intense for him. He’d keep his hands to himself and his lovely creations would be watched from a distance until he deemed it right to intervene. Until his loneliness struck and he could no longer stay away. Wilbur would do this. And it would have to be alright.

Nobody else could make it so, but him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, we’re back from crippling guilt and back to loneliness. Don’t worry, we’re getting closer to the end goal of people. Just a little more!
> 
> So, in one of the earlier drafts for an earlier chapter, I had Wilbur make himself some clothes, but when I cut the scene, I completely forgot to give him clothes. So, yeah, he's just sorta been naky this whole time. Whoops. Oh well, now he's got a reason for a wool sweater. \\_(TvT')_/


	11. More

Wilbur walked with his sheep, he laid in the grass with his sheep, he made  _ more _ sheep.

Somehow, it was  _ never enough _ . The warm body covered in forever regrowing wool--despite the fact that it put him at ease--was never enough. Having  _ several _ , cuddly bodies covered in wool surround him throughout the night was somehow  _ never enough _ . His hoard of sheep would bah, and he’d bah back. It was the most meaningful conversation he’d ever had with another being, but somehow, he knew. Wilbur knew there could be  _ more _ . He enjoyed his sheep, but Wilbur was unsatisfied with just sheep.

His fingers tingled with the urge to make  _ more _ , to make  _ new _ .

He gave in.

After months of sheep, Wilbur pulled out his prism and stared at it.

What could he make?

_ Anything. _

What did he want?

_ Satisfaction. _

Wilbur laid back against a tree with his feet in the grass and a sheep in his lap. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to the hard glass of his prism.

_ Give me something entertaining. I wish for a satisfying plethora of creatures. I want them to be different and spontaneous. I need these creatures to be capable of conversation and games. I want my creations to be capable and new. _

Wilbur’s mind wandered to the night of his first kill. Of his sweet salmon.

_ I want the revivable type. Give me a creature capable and strong and with the ability to be revived. _

His mind started to swirl and his fingers started to pull.

_ I wish for many of these. Not just one. Not just two. Give me many. Give me all I can make. _

The sheep on his lap bahed, but he ignored it, even when it pulled away from him. The sheep probably left to go eat some grass. Sheep liked grass.

The pull stretched further and further up until his elbows strained and his mind reeled.

Wilbur Soot created one hundred  _ Players _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot to update today, whoops. Oh well, WHHHOOOOO! We’re almost there! I’ve finally got all the pieces to start the section of this fic that’s fully based on the video! Finally, a solid plot line! (Don't mind me, I'll just be suffering though trying to keep my own characterizations and keeping with how the video goes. Oh joy for me.) We’re almost there! Granted, I enjoyed getting to this point, but still. We’re almost at less loneliness!


	12. Relief

This pull wasn’t like all the ones before. The pull of this creation took his mind and churned it. Wilbur got dizzy and barely noticed the fact that he’d fallen over. His head bounced onto the floor leaving him dull and pulsing. This creation took so much out of him.

He tried to open his eyes, but the afternoon sunlight was too much and he whined as he squeezed his eyes shut.

_ Take away the sun. Give me night! _

The light he could see through his eyelids flew away and there was a smidgen of relief. A part of him took note of the fact that he could change the time of day, but he couldn’t bring himself to think much of it. His entire skull was pulsing and his senses were sharp. The grass under his face was crushed and cold and sharp, he dug his fingers into it and hoped the pressure would relieve his own. It hurt so much.  _ So badly. _ He waited for it to pass. Begged for the pain to go away.

_ It didn’t. Not yet. _

This was one of the few things he could not control. Wilbur needed comfort, he needed relief. He felt tears stream down his face as he pulsed and curled in on himself. I _ t hurt! _ Wilbur needed wool. He needed his sheep. He needed water. He needed it all. He needed relief!

But his fingers didn’t respond. There would be no creations until he rested. Until this horrible headache passed. Wilbur had never felt pain like this.  _ Never _ .

He gave another long whine of pain before a familiar body curled up against his side and licked his hair. Then another, and another, and another, until eventually he was surrounded by and covered with sheep. They stayed quiet and breathed. Some licked at his skin, others nuzzled him, but they all stayed relatively quiet. Finally, relief. Everything still hurt, still pulsed, but the comfort they provided was enough to lull him to sleep. God, Wilbur had never needed it so badly. And unlike the hell he’d suffered when he created death, Wilbur passed into a peaceful sleep with dreams of hopping sheep and lovely salmon.

_ And it was beautiful. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Migraines sure are fun, aren’t they?


	13. Countdown

Wilbur Soot awoke to soft hums and wool surrounding him. The sun was up again but the migraine from before was thankfully gone. He almost felt content enough to just go back to sleep in his safety pile.

_Players will wake in 20 minutes._   
  


_  
Wake? _

Wilbur shot up and looked over the hoard of white sheep that surrounded him, zeroing in on the pile of sleeping bodies on the grass. For a couple minutes, the only sound Wilbur could hear was the soft snores of his Players, some breathing, bleating sheep, and the rhythmic ebbing of the waves on the shore to his left.

_19 minutes left._

Wilbur tore his weight from gravity’s hands and zoomed over to the mountain of Players. Wilbur’s creations never had wait times on them. They always moved and lived from the moment they were created but now there were so many of them! Was that why they slept? Wilbur looked down at his hands. Some of them looked like him, others were much furrier, and some of them were just plain strange. _Female_ , his mind provided. Some of his players were females. Wilbur only knew himself and his rather genderless animals. It was strange to him, but so _new_ . And Wilbur liked _new_ , but this, this was so new to him that all he could do was register it and move on.   
  
_  
_

_Did the unnatural sleep come from being created in bulk?_   
  


  
_No,_ Wilbur slept and he knew for sure there was nobody else with him back then. This sleep was not a result of how they were created.

_15 minutes left._

What the hell did that even mean? His eyes darted back to his sheep and he almost threw himself back into his pile. This was stressing him out. But his Players would be waking up soon, was there anything he needed to do to make sure they’re lives were comfortable?

_Players can be revived, teleported, killed, and altered. They are the most malleable of creations._

Wilbur flinched, he had almost forgotten the fact that he’d asked for them to be revivable. He settled onto the grass below and stared at the breathing body of, well, bodies. He was tempted to count them, but he already knew how many there were.  
  
 _  
_

_One Hundred Players._   
  


  
He nervously smiled and decided there was nothing he could do but sit and wait.

_8 minutes._

Wilbur would be there when his creations awoke, and even if he wasn’t, there were so many of them, they’d never feel the way he did anyways. There were one hundred bodies in a pile, and he was just one who had woken up with nothing but light and bedrock. A tight twist of irrational pain bloomed in his chest and, oh god, he _needed_ to distract himself.   
  


  
Wilbur pulled his name slip out and stared at it. Still the same, large, swirling ink with the name _Wilbur Soot_. A part of him wondered how he, his bedrock, and his name came to be. So far, he had nothing to work with. 

_And I don’t need anything, I'll be fine without answers. I've lived this long, and I'll continue to._

A crinkle sounded from the pile as one of the Players shifted. Wilbur’s eyes snapped up and locked on the white slip in the hand of a sleek, white Player. He shuffled forward and pulled up the hand holding the slip. He pushed their fingers to the side and stared at the name written in the same ink as his own.

_FrostHollow658_

The penmanship of this one was far less swirly and more blocky. It was soft and straight and much thicker than his. Wilbur let go of that hand and moved to another.

_Ambermeow__ was the next name he pulled. Same ink, same font as FrostHollow658’s, and now belonging to some blond girl. These players had different names and somehow the same font as each other, but never him.

Wilbur was different.  
  


  
He pushed her hand back, smoothed out his hair, and scooted back.

_1 minute left._

Wilbur pushed of his thoughts away as he pulled out his prism, pressed his fingers to it, and closed his eyes. Maybe his Players would want clothes as well. _Give me all the accessories and articles of clothing imaginable. I want to gift my newest creations with all the comfortable clothing they wish for._ Wilbur’s energy pulled and he felt the ribbons of color float into the air next to him. Once it was over, he wiped his brow and opened his eyes. He looked over at the floaty ribbons of color and stared.

_Touch the color and your desired article will be created on your body._

He smiled and leaned back before looking back at his Players. They would be getting up soon.  
  


_10_

He sighed and stood.

_9_

Wilbur reached up and started to scratch at his fluffy mess of a head.

_8_

One of the sheep bleat in the distance.

_7_

The sun’s heat pushed down on his skin, it was almost comforting.

_6_

What would his Players be like?

_5_

Oh well.

_4_

He’d find out soon enough.

_3_

Wilbur fluffed out his hair as a nervous feeling flooded his gut.

_2_   
  
  


He took a deep breath and smoothed his hair back into place.

_1_

One of the Player’s hands twitched.

_  
All Players Are Now Active. _


	14. Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! I forgot to update yesterday! Sorry for the delay!

Wilbur stood still and stared at the Players as they started to move. He couldn’t keep his focus on any one Player for long, the pile avalanched and he heard groans and giggles roll from the crowd as they looked around. Slowly, they all turned to look at him and he froze. Some tilted their heads, a bunch tried to get up and copy his standing, and others didn’t even try. Those ones just rolled over and took in the world around them. One with a black body and a blue head wobbled onto his feet and almost immediately started to drop. A wave of panic flooded Wilbur as he rushed forward and gripped the arms of the Player.

A paper crinkled and they both looked down at the pitch black hand between them and the pure white slip in it’s grip. _JoshA20,_ it read. He looked back up at the faceless head and could somehow tell that he was confused. He gripped Josh’s arms a little tighter and looked around at his Players.  
  
What was he supposed to do?  
  
“Who are you?” An unfamiliar voice startled Wilbur out of his confusion.

“Huh?” He looked back at the white X on Josh’s face and stared. How did he speak without a mouth? That was JoshA20, right?

“ _Who are you?_ ” The voice repeated. It was definitely coming from the Player in his arms. Memories of early, broken hopes flickered into Wilbur’s mind and he opened his mouth, determined to not do this to his newest creations. After all, these ones spoke in the same way he did, conversation was possible.  
  


_And that was new._

  
“My name is Wilbur Soot.” He watched the information settle and waited. God, he had no idea what to do next, but he wasn’t about to say that. No way.  
  
A pale skinned hand shot up from the crowd of Players still sitting in the grass and Wilbur looked over. This one was a boy with brown hair and dark eyes. “Who are we?”

Wilbur’s eyes dragged back down to the pale sheet of paper in Josh’s hand and he slowly raised it. “You all have slips of paper in your hands with your names on them.” He watched as they all scrambled to look at their hands and watched the astonishment and giddy excitement of newness wash over them. He couldn’t tell if he felt happy watching them or if that twisted feeling from before was strong enough to be addressed. What would have happened if Wilbur had gotten this?

_Does it matter?_

He frowned and released his grip on Josh, allowing him to stabilize himself with legs now used to standing. It didn’t look like he having any issues.  
  


_  
No, it doesn’t._

The Player who’d raised his hand looked up from his note and looked around before settling on Wilbur. “What are we supposed to do, Wilbur? Where are we from and what’s that thing behind you?”

Wilbur felt his face pinch in confusion before turning around and looking at the swirling, floating ribbons of color he’d made earlier.  
  
 _  
What are we supposed to do, Wilbur?_  
  
  
He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He probably should have made some sort of plan first. Wilbur just wanted a new creation that would satisfy him, was satisfaction supposed to feel so confusing? He looked back at Josh and the brown haired one, then his eyes spread to the rest of them. They all looked so different. Ambermeow and Frosthollow also looked towards him. They were waiting for direction. Wilbur needed to give them a direction.

  
He had to.  
  


Wilbur moved closer to the whirlwind of colored ribbons and reached his hand in.  
  
 _  
Customization, allows you to change your appearance and clothing._  
  
  
Wilbur smiled before turning to his Players once more. “My creations, this here is _customization_ .” He allowed the color to seep into his clothes, turning the white sweater yellow before he willed the color back out. “You reach in here and it will change how you look. Customization allows you to change your appearance however you like.” He pulled his hand back and smiled at them. “Try it.”  
  
They all stared at him for a second, completely still, then a fluffy Player with an off white color got up and stumbled over to him. He reached his hand out to stabilize them and they latched on. He pulled the Player to the Customization and gestured for them to reach into the color. Their fur turned brown at the edges and Wilbur watched as their eyes lit up and they gasped with wonder and excitement.  
  
Is that what Wilbur looked like whenever he saw something new?  
  
He smiled and waved for the others to try it out as well. And they did. They flocked to him and reached into the Customization. He watched as all one hundred players changed in little ways, new clothes, changed hair, tinted and colored furs, and whatever else they desired. Wilbur watched them and their reactions. Those reactions had to be his satisfaction, they filled him and soothed his greed while also building it higher than he’d ever felt before.  
  
Wilbur wanted to see more.  
  
Wilbur needed to see more.  
  
And he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, writing more characters in was harder than I was expecting. At the very least, it's way harder to write than Wilbur being lonely and without a clear goal in mind. Oh well, at least he's got a clear goal now.


	15. Food

“Wilbur Soot?”  
  
He smiled turned to look for the one who’d called for him. _God,_ hearing someone call for him was wonderful. His eyes landed on the boy from before, the one who’d risen his hand.  
  
“Yes?” Wilbur smiled wider at the boy while he took in his outfit. He now wore a red hat, a tight blue shirt tucked into a pair of light blue pants, two dark wristbands, a poofy, red vest, a sleek, yellow backpack on top, and a pair of red shoes with white soles.  
  
 _Yes, it was a wonderful outfit indeed._  
  
“What do we do now?” He stared at him, eyes curious. Ah, Wilbur hadn’t yet gotten his name. He’d have to ask later. Right now, he had to decide what to do with his Players.  
  
“I’m hungry!” One of them whined from the crowd.  
  
Wilbur stared, horribly confused. “Hungry?”  
  
The boy nodded and his hand hovered over his stomach. “Yes, we’re hungry. I want to eat. What do we eat, Wilbur?”  
  
Wilbur continued to stare.  
  
 _Eat? Hungry? Players got hungry?_  
  
Everything got silent as they all turned to look to him for direction.  
  
 _Players in survival mode need to eat food or nutrients in order to live and move._  
  
Wilbur grimaced at the word nutrients, it reminded him of his salmon, but he nodded.  
  
The Players were different from Wilbur.  
  
He knew they were, they had to be.  
  
He created them.  
  
Their name notes were different from his.  
  
Their _name tags_ were different from his.  
  
Wilbur’s eyes wandered over to his sheep in the distance. They ate grass, so there had to be something in the grass that he could use.  
  
He wasn't ready to sacrifice a salmon and he didn't know if he ever would be.  
  
Wilbur ignored the stares, got down on his knees, hesitantly wrapped his fingers around some blades of grass, and pulled. He noted the lack of discomfort and proceeded to stare at it, waiting for an explanation to come through.  
  
 _Grass can be broken to find seeds. Seeds can be planted in farmland and be grown into wheat. Wheat can be crafted into bread. Bread can be eaten to relieve hunger._  
  
Wilbur nodded again before looking back up at his players. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth. “So, who wants to become a farmer?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first role is farmer! :D


	16. Wood

“What is a farmer?” A girl with brown hair and blue eyes walked forward with her hand raised.  
  
Wilbur smiled before standing back up and walking over to the small ponds of water near the beach. “A farmer grows food and we’ll need seeds to farm.” He pulled up chunks of grass until a bundle of seeds filled his palm. Wilbur walked back to his crowd and held up his hand. “Do any of you know what this is?”   
  
They all shook their heads and he walked over to the girl who’d asked the question. He held out his empty hand and she mirrored him, earning the handful of seeds his other hand held. Wilbur watched as her eyes lit up with understanding and she stared down at the bundle of life, all eyes and wonder.   
  
“Do you understand now?”   
  
She nodded before looking back up to him. “I’ll become a farmer, but first, we need tools.”   
  
Wilbur nodded back before he could think about it.  
  


 _Tools?_   
  


_Hoe, the tool used to make farmland. Survival Mode Players need wood to learn how to build them._   
  


Wilbur felt his face pinch, but he walked over to the nearby forest of oak trees and pressed his fingers into its surface.  
  


 _Build? Is that like creation?_   
  


_Building requires materials, but creation only requires desires._   
  


Wilbur sighed and ripped some of the bark away to reveal the wood inside. He turned back to the crowd of Players who’d already started to migrate towards him. “Break this tree.”  
  
The girl nodded and rushed over before punching the tree. It shook and she whined. There was only a small crack in it.   
  


_Okay, so Players are significantly weaker too._   
  


Wilbur smiled and pat her shoulder, but she brushed him off with an excited grin and went back to punching it. The crack got bigger and bigger until finally, she had a block of wood in her hands. Wilbur watched as the information pooled into her mind and she rushed back over to the other Players. He stayed back and watched them discuss their plans and pass around the block of wood, giving all of them the required information.  
  
The boy with the red hat walked over and led the group towards the trees. Soon, they were all punching down trees and making wood and other unfamiliar items. Wilbur walked over to the unfinished tree and pressed his fingers into the wood, curious about what they’d learned.   
  


_Logs can be turned into wood. Wood can be turned into crafting tables, sticks, and tools. Tools are used to complete certain tasks. Hoes make farmland, shovels make breaking crumbly materials easier, pickaxes make breaking solid materials easier, axes make breaking wood easier, and swords are used to inflict damage. All tools can inflict damage, but axes and swords inflict the most._   
  


Wilbur choked on his air and flinched away from the wood.  
  


 _Damage?_   
  


_Taking too much damage will lead to death._

  
Red flashes pressed into Wilbur’s mind and he stumbled away from the wood. His eyes darted back to his players. Wooden axes tumbled trees, shovels sliced into dirt, hoes plowed into the ground, laughter rang through it all and it was too much. Wilbur needed to go somewhere else for a bit. They’d be alright without him for a little while. Wilbur needed to be alone. He needed comfort. He needed to go to the grave.   
  
His poor, poor salmon’s grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I accidentally tripped Wilbur back into the trauma puddle.


	17. Thinking

Wilbur ran past trees, past sheep, past rivers, and finally made it into the clearing that held the red flower patch--his salmon's grave.   
  
A sheep bleat behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He dropped onto the grass and cried.   
  
His Players were not aiming to kill. Wilbur knew this. They wanted the tools, not the damage. He doubted they even knew what damage was yet. Besides, he hadn’t seen any swords. They didn’t _need_ swords. It was _fine_. It had to be fine. Wilbur _needed_ everything to be fine.   
  
The sheep wandered into the clearing and bleated again before pressing against his side and nuzzling his hand. He made sure to be careful, to be considerate of their fragility as he combed his fingers through their wool. He looked down at his left forearm again, the red scales still present. Wilbur needed to calm down. He looked back at the red flowers and wiped his face with his free hand.   
  
Players could be revived so even if they did hurt each other, he could bring them back. It was alright. Wilbur could fix them if needed.   


_ But just incase _ , he thought about rules to implement. Inflicting death or damage would be against the rules,  _ that was a given _ . He sat there and threaded his fingers through the wool of the sheep to his right. Of course, for them to understand he'd have to explain and so far, he'd neglected to do so.  
  
God, he was gonna have to explain damage and death wasn't he. Maybe he could explain it to one and have them explain it to the rest. Yes, he needed a a _teacher_.  
  
When nothing else came to mind, he nodded to himself. He’d have to make a system to make sure his players understood everything, but he couldn’t do that from over here. Wilbur would have to return. He looked up to the sky and watched the pink sky turn purple.   
  
Wilbur sighed and stood back up. He looked back at the grave for a second before turning back and letting his weight leave him. It was late, he might as well fly to his Players.   
  
He wondered for a second if they could fly as well, but quickly pushed the thought back into his file of questions. He had a mission to complete first.   
  
_ Prevent damage through knowledge. _   
  
Wilbur was ignorant when he killed his salmon. If they understood the destruction they could create, such a crime would never be committed again.  
  
 _And if it is?_  
  
 _If_ it is, they cannot claim ignorance nor innocence. They will be well aware of their actions and held responsible.


	18. Fly

As Wilbur floated over the Player’s progress, he couldn’t help but marvel at it. It was beautiful. The girl had gotten the farm going and the seeds were planted, some crops already sprouting. Small, unfinished structures made of dirt and wood were scattered the area and a garden of flowers was being collected near the back. They even lit up the area with sticks and mini suns!   
  
_ Torches and fire _ , his mind corrected.   
  
_  
Torches, used to keep things bright even in dark places. Crafted with sticks and coal. Coal, an underground material that can be mined and used to burn. _   
  
  
Wilbur vaguely remembered coal, it was black and in the stone layers. He hadn’t thought much about it’s use when he’d tossed it in.   
  
_  
Make something useful. _   
  
  
God, if that wasn’t vague. Oh well, it seemed to be doing it’s job just fine.   
  
Wilbur started to descend down to his Players once more and his eyes darted to the dirt structure surrounding the Customization. Why  _ were _ they building dirt structures anyways? They had wood and coal--therefore stone as well--so why  _ dirt _ ?   
  
“Woah! How are you doing that?” One of his Players cried from below, interrupting his train of thought. He settled his feet onto the grass and looked over at her as she rushed to him. This player wore a dark blue hat and loose shirt with a red and yellow symbol on it and black shoes, shorts, and undershirt. Wilbur tilted his head as he realized more than just this girl was watching, everybody had an eye on him right then.   
  
“Flying?”   
  
She nodded, her blue eyes full of wonder.   
  
_ Right _ , this was  new to them.   
  
“Well, I’m not totally sure. If I don’t want to touch the ground, then I just don’t.” He shrugged and made sure his voice was loud enough that all of them would hear. “I just let go of my weight and float really.” His eyes wandered over his many Players before being drawn back to the girl.   
  
_  
Did Players even fly? _   
  
_  
Survival Mode Players are incapable of flying. _   
  
  
Wilbur felt something in him deflate a little. They couldn’t fly? He frowned and felt the urge to comfort her. She smiled still, but could obviously tell he was frowning for a reason. A little concern flashed in her eyes.   
  
“Can we fly too?” She stared straight into his eyes and he felt that deflated thing curl up further and wither.   
  
“No.” He watched her eyes dim a little but could sense some confusion. Another question was coming.   
  
“Why can you?” She tilted her head at him, innocent, confused, and so, so new. Yeah, he was really going to need to educate them.   
  
Wilbur reached back and scratched at his scalp, lips tight and eyes in the dark, gleaming sky. “I’m just different. I woke up a long time before you guys and I’m something separate from a Player.” He looked back down at her and still saw confusion.  
  
“I don’t know.” He confessed with a shrug.   
  
The girl relaxed and nodded before turning her eyes to the darkening night sky as well.   
  
“Okay.” She said with a tone of understanding and finality.   
  
Neither of them had anything else to say, Wilbur turned his eyes back to the stars and they stayed there for a while.   
  
Silent.   
  
But, Wilbur didn’t hate this type of silence. It was nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I forgot to update yesterday, sorry about that!
> 
> Uh, fun fact, all the Player skins I describe are ones I pulled from Wilbur's actual video. (Josh is in the skin he uses during the Lab Rats video though, I only realized his skin was different after I put up that chapter with him in it. So, whoops there too. Oh well.)


	19. Grounding

Wilbur stared up at the moon, his companion long gone into the forest. It was late and he had a feeling he should probably get started on that information spreading. On that  _ school _ .   
  
He sighed and floated up until his legs were completely unfolded and his feet were flat on the ground. Shreds of grass stuck to his sweater and his hair, but he didn’t feel much like changing it. He was comfortable and had much more pressing matters to attend to.   
  
_ Prevent damage through knowledge _ , he reminded himself. How was Wilbur going to teach them anyways? He shut his eyes.  
  
Should he use stories?  
  
 _History?_  
  
 _Live demonstrations?_  
  
He shivered. He didn’t want to show death through demonstration, just the idea made his stomach churn and the memory of acid resurface. He pushed down the urge to gag, took slow, deep breathes, and straightened his spine, a stabilizing hand resting on his shoulder.   
  
_ Wait _ , Wilbur opened his eyes back up and looked to the side to find Josh standing there, worry wafting off him.   
  
“Are you alright?” His hand stayed stable and the surprise of the shape of the touch grounded Wilbur, allowing his panic to ebb away to a certain degree.  A hand that wasn't _his_ was holding him together. He didn't know if he'd ever even fantasized of something so disturbingly wonderful. Another reminder that Players were very different from his other creations.  
  
 _Very, very different._  
  
He nodded as he took another deep breath. Josh didn’t seem to believe him if the unchanging grip was anything to go by. Wilbur was fine, he took another breath and forced his body relax back into a normal state. “I’m alright, I was just thinking.”   
  
The grip on his shoulder loosened the slightest bit and the man nodded. “What about?”   
  
Wilbur smiled. ”Teaching.”   
  
Josh stared and his hand slowly slid off him completely. “Teaching?”   
  
“Do you remember learning from the wood?”   
  
A nod.   
  
“This would be like that, but different.”   
  
They stood there for a second, still and silent.   
  
A soft breeze blew by and a sheep in the distance bleated.   
  
“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it’s almost time for school.
> 
> Also, I’ve got a history project coming up so I’m gonna have to go on hiatus for a bit for that. I’ll be back, but there aren’t going to be any updates for a bit. Sorry!
> 
> I was looking through my chapters to get a better grasp on my own writing and proceeded to cringe at my end notes and typos. I'm never quite sure what to say in them and I'll have to go back and fix those typos later. Yeah, I'll get around to it at some point. Hopefully.


End file.
